


What's Best

by unsettled



Category: Iron Man (Movieverse)
Genre: Betrayal, Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-09
Updated: 2010-09-09
Packaged: 2017-10-11 15:18:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/113818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsettled/pseuds/unsettled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe Obie always indulges him, but he also always does what's best for Tony; and if he agrees to this, it must be what's best, no matter how Tony's fears might grow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's Best

Obie leans over him, looming as he always does, as he always has, and Tony can't breath, he can't, he can't move, he's as stuck in terror as he is in betrayal and the sound still ringing in his ears, just above the level of hearing.

"Why did you have to be so stubborn?" Obie whispers; sets the reactor into the case and draws his fingers back to Tony's face, traces them down the line of stubble on his cheek. "We could have been so special, together. You and me, kid. Why'd you get such a big head?"

Tony can't tell him, can't say anything, and what would he say if he could? What could he say? Obie leans in a little closer, presses his lips to Tony's forehead, pale and streaked with sweat, and all Tony can think of is buried under the betrayal, of Obie, of – of the night after he got home from Afghanistan, and Obie, Obie pulling him into a hug, pulling him in and kissing his forehead, and Tony – Tony had caught his breath. "Obie," he'd whispered. "I've never been so scared–"

Obie cut him off with a finger pressed to his lips; didn't say anything more, but the finger slid down, pulled at the buttons of Tony's shirt and didn't flinch away at the hum of something less than human under his hand. Didn't try to hide away the fact that he wanted Tony as much as Tony wanted him, wanted some sort of human contact to ground him in a way that flighty models and reporters and females of every type never could, because he's always Tony Stark there, he's never a messed up kid with a mind burning through ideas too fast to jot them down, with a hole in his heart that he's trying to fill with anything he can, a hole that will one day become all to real. Those are the things he'll never stop being to Obie, and maybe it should annoy him that he'll never been grown up and in control of himself in Obie's eyes; but he knows it's true. He'll never be those things. Just because he's conned the world into believing it doesn't mean it's true.

And it's no different than it's ever been, than it's always been, since the first time Tony's buried his face on Obie's shoulder and let himself be held, be vulnerable and broken for just a little while, just until he runs out of tears. Since the first time the man who meant so much more to him than his father, was more his father than Howard, kisses a benediction onto Tony's brow, and it's not enough, it's not the only kind of love he's looking for, so he closes his eyes and leans forward before his courage can falter again. Presses his lips against the stubbled curve of Obie's jaw, in something that cannot be mistaken for anything other than what it is, blatant, and he's ready to flee if Obie tells him no.

But Obie doesn't, and that's such a relief, because he'd doubted for a moment, if this wasn't a terrible idea, but Obie– maybe Obie always indulges him, but he also always does what's best for Tony; and if he agrees to this, it must be what's best, no matter how Tony's fears might grow. He can trust Obie to save him from his own tendency to leap without looking, to not even care that he's falling until he hits the bottom. So when Obie kisses him back, when Obie takes him to bed and doesn't tell him he's too young or that he doesn't know what he's doing or how he should be ashamed for what he wants – what he needs – it's for the _best_.

And that's what he'll remember, from then on, from then right up through the moment when anyone else – when Pepper or Rhodey or any pretty bimbo he could have brought home – would have paused and pulled back and asked if he was sure, if he was ok, if this was what he wanted, and then he would have been forced to lie and tell them yes when he doesn't even know the answer himself.

Obie didn't spare him, didn't try to be gentle or careful or coddling and it's for the best because that's not what Tony needs now. He needs someone to treat him like he's real, like he's human, like he can break and it will be ok. Tony moaned, and arched his back, and tried to tell Obie with every wordless movement that he's so grateful for everything Obie does for him, still, always. Obie looks at him a little different now, like he knows Tony can handle everything that's thrown at him when he might have turned away before.

Maybe if Obie keeps telling him so, he'll start to believe that he's grown up, that he's finding a place for himself that defined by himself, rather than some person who doesn't know that first thing about him. That he's doing something worthwhile for once in his life, and that that's a good thing. He almost wanted to tell Obie what he plans, wants to whisper it into his ear and see if Obie will smile and praise him, will see that Tony can finally see what's best for himself as well, and that now he knows Obie was always right. But he didn't, because as much as he wants those things from Obie, he wants to surprise him even more.

Later, when they're sprawled on Tony's ridiculously large bed, Obie had spent far too long fixated on Tony's chest, and Tony wanted to knock Obie's curious fingers away, because he shouldn't be looking at it, shouldn't be touching it, it's nothing beautiful or worthwhile or, or, or– and he swallowed, hard. It's just a means to an end, just what's keeping him alive, and he can't show Obie the way he's found to redeem it yet. Obie looked up, fingers still brushing over the metal and glass, tracing the edge where skin meets machinery. 'It's beautiful, Tony," he said. Pressed his lips to the raised, still puffy skin on the edge of the reactor. Spoke into his heart, "You're beautiful."

And Obie, Obie – all along, Obie was just playing him. Had ordered the hit. Had never – never – been doing what was best for him, and how is Tony supposed to know what is anymore?

Maybe it's sweat rolling down his cheeks. Maybe it's something else.


End file.
